Mr Motivator gets under Real's lycra

You've got to love FC Barcelona's cult-figure captain Luis Enrique - a cross between Mr. Motivator and a Tourette's Syndrome-suffering Scrappy Doo. Only without the shocking pink leotard (much more up Guti's alley), a garish plastic "step" and a comically un-athletic real name. Or a cowardly Great Dane for an uncle. For, like Derrick Evans, the FC Barcelona midfielder is never happier than when pushing his friends to athletic excellence with the aid of motivational slogans and a contagious lead-by-example attitude - except when he's winding up his opponents with choice words and the kind of feisty, take-them-all-on mentality that Scooby's nephew would be proud of.

Just like the irritating, shadow boxing little mutt, the man from Asturias loves a scrap against the odds, preferably in enemy territory. Which is why, as he proved on Saturday night, he so loves the Santiago Bernabéu - the easiest place to provoke opponents and motivate team-mates. It is, after all, his former den and the home of Barça's bitterest rivals - those that Luis Enrique, like the world's most rubbish masseuse, delights in rubbing up the wrong way: this week he announced that he feels "prouder to be a culé in the Bernabéu than anywhere else".

Yes, Luis Enrique loves to hate Madrid - and the feeling is mutual. The last time he visited, Madrid's Ultras Sur offered their own computerized version of Mole Whacking - Luis Enrique whacking, with five points and a splattering of blood for every time you hit him. But, unlike missile-magnet Luis Figo who was unfairly accused of provocation, Luis Enrique doesn't mind the aggro - he loves winding people up and thrives on the abuse which all helps him motivate his team-mates, like our Derrick with class of a Lycra-clad 40-somethings on heat.

His feisty, determined and motivational presence on Saturday made a huge difference to struggling Barça. Not least because of his ability to get under people's skin, something team-mate Marc Overmars discovered midweek when he was on the receiving-end of a spot of training ground, chest-thrusting "lemme-at-'im"s - a mini punch-up that Luis Enrique described as "like mustard and ketchup on chips: the salsa de fútbol".

The salsa did Barça no harm: despite Ronaldo scoring the opener after fifteen minutes, the Catalans - following their captain's lead with an aggressive, high-tempo approach - were well on top, snapping into tackles, creating chances and not allowing Madrid to settle.

It finished 1-1 but in truth Barça deserved more - especially Luis Enrique, who reveled in the Bernabéu boos. Even the old favourite "Luis Enrique, your dad is Amunike!", didn't shake him and when Barça equalised, the goalscorer was inevitable - the wind-up merchant was first to an Iker Casillas parry, slotted home and promptly ran to the stand to scream his head off in front of Madrid's fans. He was only sorry not to be afforded the Figo treatment that would have made him even more of a cult figure; there was absolutely no sign of a pig's head.

"Luis Enrique is much more than a footballer; he's a leader and a character," said Barça boss Radi Antic afterwards: "It was great news for us that he was fit at last - Luis grows in adversity."

True enough: the Asturian boasts a contagious will to win and an exceptional ability to rattle his opponents - something clearest in the mass brawl that broke out after an increasingly frustrated Zidane lashed out at Carles Puyol. According to the Catalan press it was a vicious elbow; for their Madrid counterparts it was a hand-off. Whatever, it prompted to Zidane to try to gouge out Luis Enrique's eyes and - to judge by the weird photo that graced Marca's front cover - simultaneously grow a genetic freak's extra arm. It also provoked Claude Makelele into comically pulling Motta by the hair, "like a hysterical little girl" as the Catalan daily El Mundo Deportivo touchily put it.

"I deserved a red card," admitted Makelele but, amazingly, referee Muñiz Fernández - a man with more gel in his hair than the entire 1931 Arsenal first XI - didn't even book anybody. Writing in Marca, Johan Cruyff lauded the decision "otherwise Muñiz would have had to carry on alone".

But not everyone was impressed. Madrid's players moaned about Muñiz's inability to prevent Barça's "aggressive" approach, even though Madrid committed twice the fouls, while Catalunya whinged about the jelly-headed ref's failure to send off Zidane and the lack of a yellow card for a hilariously awful Roberto Carlos dive. What most got Barça's back up, however, were his decisions to rule out Gaizka Mendieta's first half goal for offside (probably correct) and not to give a penalty for a clear Fernando Hierro foul on - who else? - Luis Enrique.

Catalan daily Sport described it as a "Moral victory", while El Mundo Deportivo was again crying over the "Robbery of the Century ... volume II" - "the same old story, as always," moaned editor Santi Nolla. "Barça have to do more than just win to win at the Bernabéu ... Hierro's penalty is textbook."

Luis Enrique agreed. Cornered by TVE's glistening-headed, grinning wally Quique Guash, he insisted that his interviewer buy "a pair of glasses if you didn't see that". "Of course it was a penalty!", he smiled, before adding scarily: "If I had dived, Fernando Hierro would have eaten the referee."